Whole
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: There's a hole in her chest, where her heart used to be. He wants to be whole again.


Disclaimer— Recognizable characters belong to Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore, and Charlie Adlard. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Darn you, zombie plot bunnies... I guess one way to have them stop nibbling at my brain is to get them out of my head and onto the screen. Another big shout out to BigBadJayne for his mad beta skillz. All errors are mine. Spoilers through the end of Season 2.

Whole—There's a hole in her chest, where her heart used to be. He wants to be whole again.

* * *

There's a hole in her chest, where her heart used to be. She wonders when it left, because she can't remember the last time she felt it. It might've been when they'd left home with only a few meager belongings, bound for the unknown safety of somewhere other than here. She doesn't think it was when Ed died. In fact, the more she thinks about her deceased, _abusive_ husband, the more she's glad he's dead. It took the end of the world for her to realize that, if he was the last man alive, she'd much rather go it alone.

When facing reality of gnawing, hungry, walking death, she guesses, is when everything becomes clear.

Unfortunately, it doesn't extend to the past few days. There are huge hunks of time missing from her memories. Somewhere, deep down, she realizes that it's her brain, protecting her. She remembers Sophia running off, and sliding out from underneath a car, and then it all becomes fuzzy, like she's drifting through a fog that just refuses to clear. The sun never arrives to burn it off. She feels claustrophobic in the thick, dense darkness that surrounds her.

There are pinpricks of light, fleeting moments of hope, of Cherokee roses and a crossbow-wielding warrior. But, Daryl returns, broken and bleeding, and she knows then that there's no chance for her Sophia. If he came back like that, with all of his expertise and knowledge, was there ever any chance for her baby's survival?

She remembers the shuffling of small feet, and knobby knees and unsteady legs, like a newborn foal, stumbling out of the barn. She remembers screaming, and arms around her. She remembers the gunshot and the knowledge that it was _final_.

She wonders if her heart fell from her chest then, bleeding out on the sun-dried dirt, decaying into nothingness. Could that be what Rick meant, about being infected? Is she, too, a walking mindless _thing_, destined only to wander about, to hunger for something that will never truly satisfy her? Because what she wants is her baby girl, alive and healthy, in her arms and protected.

She's not that different from that which scares her so badly. But that thought troubles her more than anything, and she banishes it from her mind.

Maybe in the scuffle at the farm, she just dropped it. The more she tries to focus on the events, the less she can recall. The sounds, however, echo in her ears still: the snapping of the fire, the hissing of diseased lungs by the hundreds, maybe thousands, and the throttling purr of the motorcycle.

From across the camp, she hears the unforgiving sound of steel against flesh and sees Daryl hard at work, cleaning the catch of the day. While her stomach betrays her, revealing her hunger, what she truly thirsts for is the ability to patch herself back together again. She doesn't think it matters, if she finds her own missing heart, or a suitable replacement. She wants to be whole again.

* * *

He wants to be whole again. The scary thing is that he didn't even realize he wasn't. He can't put his finger on it, can't describe it, but he knows there's something that's missing. His emotions, always a jumbled mess, seem to have gotten bigger, _stickier_ since leaving the farm. One second, he's madder than a hornet, and the next, he's calm, quiet as a mouse.

He hears the whispers, the concerns that he's losing his grip on reality, that he could snap. It's bullshit, he decides, coming from Beth, who tried to kill herself. Part of him wants to rail against her, spitting venom at her and all who agree with her. Another part realizes that it'll prove her point, and that's not something he wants to do.

More than anything, he wants to know what happened, how he went from being a loner to being part of the group, a "henchman." He doesn't see himself in that role, but he's not sure what he sees himself as, other than _wit__h_ them. It goes against every fiber in his being, to stick with the group. He's always needed his space, his privacy, and looking out for and providing for the others isn't part of his DNA.

Mutation is the only answer that makes sense, and he wonders idly if that's his infection.

Back in the days before, he'd never have given any of them a second look. If he'd met any of them then, and someone had said he'd be taking care of them, and they, him, he'd have laughed. He's not laughing now as he butchers fresh kills for their dinner.

The others need him, whether they choose to admit it or not. So he takes the whispers and the outright jabs. He takes all of the cruelty of the group because he can, because he's strong enough to shoulder that responsibility.

So when Carol doesn't join in, when she goes looking to see that he's okay, he finds it difficult. It means switching gears, and that's never been his strong suit either. It's so much easier to push them all away while doing his job, while taking care of the dirty work. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to shove her aside, she's always there, on his periphery.

She's a pillar of strength. Having lost her husband, her daughter, she still does what's required of her, what's asked of her, and more. She stands her ground, even if he doesn't always agree. He respects her for that.

But, she's wormed her way under his skin somehow. He's not sure how it happened, if it was before or after Sophia went missing, but nonetheless she's there. And she's not coming out. He feels like everything under his skin has been displaced as she settled there, somewhere. He pauses in his work when the realization hits him. He's discovered what's missing. It doesn't matter that he hears his pulse, that it echoes in his ears. It must just be phantom pains, the ghostly memories of what had been. There's a hole in his chest, where his heart used to be.

* * *

End.


End file.
